


Chasing My Dream to the Edge of Yours

by sunwisher



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Architect! Wooyoung, Dream jargon and fake science, Dreamsharing, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by the movie Inception, M/M, Prodigy! San, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunwisher/pseuds/sunwisher
Summary: It’s cute, and if San’s being honest, the fact that Wooyoung searched him up in a bout of curiosity to get to know him better is super flattering, but he’s not about to tell him that. Something tells him that the other would enjoy it too much.“Listen, my superior told me I’d get the opportunity to work withTheChoi San, and I’m only human, you know? I had to make sure I knew everything about you before I saw you because I didn’t wanna say the wrong thing and mess things up.”Wooyoung looks genuinely distressed at even the thought of potentially saying the wrong thing and fucking up with San, face clouding over with panic. San’s never felt so important, so powerful in his life.“Well, do you?” San asks, serious.Wooyoung’s half-excited, half-anxious energy simmers down, his voice thin as he asks, “Do I what?”San shrugs. “You told me you wanted to make sure you knew everything about me. I’m asking you if you do.”Or, San's toeing the line of a burnout, having given everything he had to his dream when Wooyoung barges in with his too easy smile, unconditional love and something San can't quite pinpoint. Somewhere along the line, one becomes two, but is that all there is to it?
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70





	Chasing My Dream to the Edge of Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Hello rockstars,
> 
> Blame this crime on Woosan. This au is heavily inspired by Inception, both the movie and the song. After seeing Wooyoung reveal that it was San who asked him to do THE woosan move in the choreo for Inception, and after looking at the lyrics, my head went "WRITE THIS, YOU COWARD!" So here we are!! I know I have fics to update, but just bear with me on this one!! I'm so excited to show you what I have planned!! Enjoy the read!!

San blinks rapidly to get rid of the sting accompanying the mornings after little to no sleep. Insomnia has crawled slowly albeit surely into his routine, but there’s not much he can do about it, so he lets it be, dress shoes scraping against the concrete sidewalk with every step he takes as he tries to navigate the concrete jungle around him. 

_2967, 2968, 2969_ … he counts until he stops, tired of trying to keep himself awake by counting the number of steps he has walked, smoke curling in his mind where there’s supposed to be the formulas of a potential new serum they can use for dream sharing.

The city’s loud around him, never-ending gossip streaming into his ears along with the constant whirring of engines, footsteps blurring together into static. It’s easy to tune out the voices he doesn’t want to hear though, especially when things are even louder in his head.

It’s nothing he can pull apart and cross analyze though, all of his thoughts merging into one huge mass of nothing and everything.

Pulling the lapels of his long overcoat together with his one hand, San takes a sip from his hazelnut latte made just the way he likes it. Usually, the gesture is accompanied with a small wisp of happiness caressing his heart, but it’s been a while since something as mundane as a coffee has made him smile. Looking down at the wet asphalt lined with thick white paint, he sees an optical illusion and a safe zone all at the same time, and sighs to himself.

It’d been raining pretty hard in the morning when San had woken up after he fell asleep at his desk, napping away, restless, for a measly two hours. He hadn’t thought that the rain would cease before he left for work, but it had, and he’d been relieved, but right now, he wishes it had kept raining, wishes he could have let the water wash over him and penetrate his skin and bone and soak the marrow. Maybe then this feeling of distress which filled his chest would have eased a little.

It’s just another day that is about to wither away where he will lose all sense of time and space until Jongho pulls him out, his sturdy arms around him, or his steady voice nudging him awake before he drives him home.

San’s legs are already aching from the trek up the three blocks, but he’s used to it, used to the way his muscles pull and burn in a familiar way, grounding him as strongly as it possibly could. His car is parked safely in the garage of his apartment complex, collecting dust since he has been walking to work lately after he decided to use the few minutes it takes to tread from his home to the confines of his cabin to clear his head.

Whether or not it helps is a whole different story though.

The woman standing next to him, her gloved hands wrapped protectively around her daughter’s hand, glances at him absent-mindedly. San returns the minuscule smile, never one to shy away from pleasantries before he looks back down at the vertical black and white grid in front of him. It’s a leftover habit from his stint with an umpteen number of corporate owners, but there’s no harm done, so it has become pretty much instinct. 

_Easy._ Easy even if he knows it doesn’t come as naturally to him as it used to.

It’s just as San’s about to zone out that he senses his phone vibrating in his pocket. He smiles seeing Jongho’s name on the screen. At least this hasn’t been ripped away.

“Hyung, where are you?” 

There’s something in Jongho’s voice that makes it sound like he’s hiding something, something tense, ever-present concern wrapping around the comfort that is his voice.

San has asked endlessly over the past week for him to tell him, offered to talk it out, but he’s only received measured shaking of his head and passive shrugs in response.

San doesn’t push. He’s still worried, but he knows Jongho has his hands full dealing with him and whatever is causing him trouble.

The younger is too stubborn to give it up too, and San’s too exhausted to reach out with all his might.

It’s an odd impasse, one he knows will have to stop at some point, but for now, he appreciates the buffer time it gives him.

“I’m a block away, Jong-ah,” San mumbles, certain that the younger will hear him despite the rumbling traffic and the orchestra of honking as a result of the morning rush hour.

“I grabbed breakfast for you on my way to the office.”

San has to strain his ears to hear the younger but it doesn’t dull the smile that tugs at his mouth. He doesn’t say anything in response, knowing that Jongho will turn into a skittish mess if he calls him out for being a softie.

Cooking had never been San’s forte and after that one incident at Hongjoong’s house where he had nearly burned down the kitchen in the few minutes Seonghwa left to greet the guests who were coming over, everyone in his friend circle had come to have intimate knowledge of just how bad he was at it. It’s the reason why he melts every time Jongho or Seonghwa bring him food. They never made it seem like it was a chore to them, and in the past year it’d come to mean a lot more than that, what with everything that went down.

It’s not like he couldn’t have grabbed breakfast on his own. It’s just nice to see Jongho or Seonghwa nag as they set down his food, playful glares aimed at his head as he types away on his desktop, dreams in the making.

When he zones back into the conversation, Jongho’s ranting on about how his dad had sent him kimchi not knowing his mom had done the same thing. Smiling, San hums at all the right parts, frowning when Jongho pauses suddenly like he usually does when he remembers something important. 

The younger doesn’t usually talk this much, preferring to go for non-verbal gestures for conveying what he wants to say or embellishing his limited words with a meaningful eyebrow raise or a glare that could burn a hole through the wall depending on how murderous he felt at the moment. San figures that he must sound more dead inside than he thinks he does if even the youngest had felt like he had to step in and try to change his mood.

“Hyung, you have a meeting at 11 with Park Seunghun and his team,” Jongho reminds, voice even. The topic change is quick and purposeful. This must have been what the call was for in the first place.

There’s some sort of movement on the other side. Jongho must be walking, and San hears the distinct chime of the elevator bell at their office.

“Yeah, I know,” San replies softly as he takes long strides, certain that the annoying redhead on Seunghun’s team will eat his ears off with his endless chatter. He’s definitely not looking forward to it. 

Jongho’s death glare was usually strong enough to save him from a lot of trouble, but it sadly didn’t include Seunghun’s lackey. It’s probably the thought about how he’d have to keep himself in check throughout what he knows will be a gruelling meeting that causes the delay in noticing how the light has turned green in the time he’d picked up the call. 

One moment San’s looking at a bright green light, smiling at the fondness that brightens the dungeon that is his heart for a second because of Jongho’s love language that resembles more of a tsundere anime boy than anything else along with mild annoyance at the thought of the meeting, and the next, his breath seizes up as the light flashes red, the driver of the huge truck in the front row of the flux of vehicles distractedly revving the engine, gaze stuck on the console.

San should move, his body screaming at him to, but he can’t. There are people yelling at him from what feels like every direction possible, and he vaguely registers Jongho shouting _hyung_ over and over in his ear. 

San knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it as he closes his eyes. Infinite simulations designed for his clients where he advises them to not close their eyes so that they see what the crash that had taken their loved ones’ lives looked like should teach him to do better, but in the face of being asked to live what he taught so many others to do, San’s only human, stripped right down to his skin and a little farther than that.

The impact he awaits, though, doesn’t come. There’s no slamming of skin and bones against metal, no screeching tires or swearing drivers. Instead there’s a force tugging him by the back of his coat, and San goes unwillingly, his elbow scraping against the curb as he lands on top of something that is definitely _not_ the rough asphalt.

“Ow!” San hears from beneath him and he raises his head up slowly, having unknowingly nuzzled in the space between the neck and shoulder of the stranger on the ground, his savior who had just quite literally pulled him away from his death. 

The stranger gazes up at him, pupils slightly dilated, pretty eyes reflecting the sunlight which San is pretty sure wasn’t there minutes ago, raking over his face. San’s so close that he doesn’t even register the stranger’s face first. His eyes betray him though, as it drifts down to the mole on the side of the stranger’s cheek and then down to his pink lips where another mole decorates the inner edge of his full bottom lip. 

The stranger is, for lack of better words and San’s non-existent dictionary, _gorgeous_. Looking at the other man is sort of disorienting because it’s been quite some time since he had paid enough attention to someone to feel like he got pushed down a cliff by how pretty they are.

Maybe near death experiences do that to you. San doesn’t know for sure.

“Uhm,” the man trails off before he even begins, sounding a little confused, his chest vibrating beneath San’s palm that has fixed itself upon the warmth which radiated off of the other. He doesn’t miss the way the other’s gaze flitters over his face, dwelling on his eyes for a moment longer than is necessary. 

Like this, San wonders if the stranger can see the withering grey of the void inside him.

He hopes not.

“Oh!” San squeaks eloquently, voice coming out a lot more winded than he envisages. Once he realizes what he’s been doing, he scrambles off of the other, the man wincing when San’s hand which he uses to balance himself on the wet ground slips and he falls back down over the other. A teenager standing by and watching decides to take mercy on him and offers him a hand to pull him up before he leaves.

Some of the bystanders crowd around them now that they’re safe and not at risk of becoming roadkill. They ask him if he’s okay, perusing his elbow, an older woman taking the liberty to touch his arm, offering to call an ambulance if they need it.

The woman seems to be around his mom’s age, so even if the touch isn’t comfortable, San tolerates it because he’s an emotional bastard first before he is anything else. San shakes his head at the offer though, wincing at the way the fabric of his coat grazes the scrapes at his elbow. It’s just a scrape but it burns like hell, though he has no intention to admit that aloud. His heart is still pounding, but he holds it in, even if all his composure is hanging by a thread.

San glances to the side to see that the guy who saved him is receiving the same treatment, their eyes meeting a couple of times, the other’s pretty features rearranging themselves to an expression that San thinks is supposed to come out as a question of whether he’s okay.

Honestly, the stranger should be the one who should be in more pain than San because San isn’t the one who got bodyslammed to the ground. He’s always been on the skinnier side, genetics grabbing his metabolism and firing it up, even his grandmother shoving plates of food down his throat for years doing nothing to how lean he is. She had given up when she finally accepted that no matter her efforts, he’ll always be unsatisfactorily thin. He’s put on some muscle recently though, mostly as a result of working out to keep his mind away from the things he didn’t want to dwell on. Anyway, he’s aware that even as thin as he is, the stranger must not have had the best time having his entire body weight slamming against his as they landed on the hard ground.

San briefly contemplates if the other man’s back is as bruised as he can imagine it will be. There’s an even stranger urge to touch. He truly must be going off the rails.

It’s only when the crowd disperses, things falling back into place as they usually do because people have better things to do than waste their time advising a twenty-something guy on how to cross the road, that his savior steps towards him, his hand reaching for something in his pocket.

San raises an eyebrow, the stranger huffing out a small laugh in return, probably surprised at how San is shaking but still manages to be a bit belligerent. San knows he should thank the other for rescuing him, but he doesn’t trust his voice, at least not yet. His coffee streaks the spotless white lines on the road, but he’s pretty sure that passersby would appreciate the fact that it isn’t his blood that is staining the white.

“Your phone,” the stranger says as he hands the phone to him with a sliver of a smile.

San’s hand shakes as he grabs it with a mumble of gratitude. He figures that one of the bystanders must have seen the phone and handed it to the stranger thinking it was his.

It’s not cracked, at least the screen isn’t. Not that he cared about it anyway. He wasn’t a broke college student anymore, more zeroes to his bank balance than he ever thought possible.

“You okay? I assume it’s not every day you nearly die in a crash,” the stranger blurts, wincing as soon as he says it. 

The lack of filter is cute, San thinks, even if the guy’s words are a morbid thought to even consider. It helps that the stranger is arguably one of the prettiest men San has seen his entire life. It’s not the quiet and understated kind of beauty either, but maybe San would have appreciated it more had the situation been different.

The stranger does another once over of him, frowning probably due to the lack of a response. San’s chest trembles as he gathers his breath before he releases it in a bout of nervous laughter, finally deciding that his mouth is capable of replying.

“I’m alright. I just…” San trails off, eyes closing off on their own accord as his heart beats bruises in his chest as what had just happened dawns fully in him. He doesn’t know why it happens but he feels his eyes sting, tears gathering in them, his trembling hands not helping his attempts to ground himself. Almost like he’d been expecting it, the tentatively playful smile on the stranger’s face drops quickly, _so_ quickly that San nearly gets whiplash.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Nothing happened, you’re fine, okay?” The guy whispers. San shouldn’t hear it, not with the city throwing a tantrum around them but he does.

The other’s voice is gentle and light, but it’s not fully soft, a thin distortion pulling at it like he’s dealing with the remnants of a cold. It’s comforting to hear the nonsense he’s mumbling over and over though, as he leans into San’s space, his hands hovering in front of San like he’s not sure if he can touch, and San finds that despite not being fond of making people worry over him, he really appreciates the concern in this moment. He grips his coat tighter and breathes deeply as the stranger’s gentle and lilting voice pulls him down to the ground, a steady thrum in the forefront of his mind like the bassline of a song where it’s there even if it isn’t the first thing you notice.

“Thank you,” San whispers when he’s certain that the urge to have a breakdown in the middle of the street has passed.

The guy looks at him for a second longer than is necessary before he nods and takes a step back, seemingly content after seeing San calm down visibly.

“You should watch where you’re going next time,” the stranger suggests calmly even if San can sense that he’s serious, groomed eyebrows moving up and down once before they settle back into place. San thinks that it makes him look even more younger than he assumes he is already, dark locks of hair framing his face, kissing the edge of his jawline and falling over his one eye.

They’re glassy like he’s tearing up, sparkling even in the fading light as the sky clouds over almost unnaturally. He isn’t crying though, so San assumes that it’s just the way his eyes look all the time, shining and alive and just… _happy_. 

San thinks that it makes him seem like a dream. San loves dreams. Maybe the stranger does too.

“I will. I was just…” San says and pauses, eyes widening as he realizes the fact that he’d been talking to Jongho when shit had gone down. He’s pretty sure that the younger had heard the panic and the bustle surrounding the fall which could have easily been a crash had it not been for the reflexes of the stranger. It doesn’t take San his doctorate to figure that the younger must be worried sick.

“I’m sorry. I need to make a call if you don’t mind,” San stutters, not knowing why his tongue feels so uncooperative.

The stranger closes his eyes once in understanding and nods, leaning against the lamp post and gesturing for him to go ahead.

Switching his phone on, it must have switched off when he fell, San doesn’t even get to properly key in his password before Jongho’s name appears on his screen again. He must have been trying to call him after the previous call got disconnected.

“Hyung, what the fuck happened over there?” Jongho barks at him. “Where are you? Are you safe? I’m coming to get you!”

San can hear the sound of honking, Jongho’s car’s, he’s certain. He feels bad for having worried the other so much, but it’s not like he chose this particular event to happen or expected it to.

Life wasn’t a simulation. It wasn’t a dream he could manipulate. He didn’t have the power to stop anything despite the way the people who knew what he created and nearly perfected, treated him like he was a magician.

Even magic, the brand he’s capable of that is, San thinks, comes with a price.

The stranger’s eyes are fixed on him when San lifts his gaze from the ground, a small quirk of his perfect eyebrows encouraging him to respond to the younger instead of endlessly staring into the distance.

“Jong-ah, I’m okay. I’m so sorry for worrying you. I just.. I wasn’t looking where I was going and…” _I almost died_ , San doesn’t say, biting his tongue, “but someone helped me out. I’m still at the junction near Mrs. Kim’s shop. I’ll wait near the bus stop, okay?” 

Jongho yells at him in a frenzy for a few seconds, having figured out the parts San had left unsaid. The younger has always been incredibly perceptive, but sometimes San wishes it wasn’t so easy for him because it only made talking to Jongho that much harder. He’d read a million meanings from a simple line, and it was exhausting to be on the other end when the younger would break out into spiels of psychoanalysing San even if all those conversations usually ended in cathartic crying sessions.

San isn’t entirely listening this time though, gaze drawn to the stranger by the way his presence is demanding all his attention. There’s a sense of calm and familiarity surrounding the other, but San can’t pinpoint a reason for the feeling.

Hanging up as the younger finally calms down to a respectable degree, San lets his gaze roam over the thick leather band over the stranger’s right wrist, a parallel to the silver watch on his left. The navy blue shirt he is wearing is rolled up to his elbows, exposing golden skin and protruding veins branching out, casting the tiniest of shadows where the skin has risen up. His black slacks are slightly fitted, ironed without a wrinkle.

Must be working for some corporate office, San figures.

“Friend?” The guy asks, one knee folded, the sole of his dress shoe touching the metal of the lamp post. There’s no panic on his face, not even the slightest hint of nerves which was present a couple of minutes ago.

“Yeah,” San says, nodding, and spurred on by something strange, he continues. “He’s my personal assistant actually, but he’s also my friend.” 

The oversharing gets him a quirked eyebrow. It’s not quite judgment, but it is something he can’t decipher.

“I’m Wooyoung,” the stranger, _Wooyoung_ , San notes, chirps with a small smile bordering on a smirk, his eyes lighting up. “I’d have said it’s nice to meet you, but I’m not sure if this,” he pauses, laughing lightly, gesturing vaguely at the road and the vicinity with a cute scrunch of his nose, “whole deal counts as nice.”

“San,” San mumbles, letting his hand meet the other’s. His palm is soothingly warm and not sweating buckets like San’s.

“I’m sorry my hands are so… I’m still nervous,” San explains, hoping Wooyoung won’t think he’s gross for sweating like a kindergartener being dropped off at school for the first time.

Waving away San’s explanation with a veiny hand, Wooyoung straightens up, looking down at his watch, stepping a little closer now that he’s no longer leaning on the lamp post. 

They’re still standing pretty close to the intersection, so there’s a throng of people constantly moving around them. San doesn’t notice the guy who’s staring at his phone and nearly shoulder-checks him. Wooyoung does though, pulling San by his wrist to him before the guy can shove him out of the way.

San feels his ears warm-up, whispering a tiny _thanks_.

“Is your friend coming to pick you up?” Wooyoung asks, ignoring San’s gratitude, choosing to scan the area instead, before his eyes land back on San’s face.

“Yeah,” San says. It’s only that he notices how Wooyoung keeps shifting on his feet despite having been calm moments ago.

Was he in a hurry or something?

“You don’t have to wait till he comes. He’s just a block away. If you have somewhere to be..”

“I don’t,” Wooyoung cuts in, voice louder than it was earlier.

San watches as pink crawls up his veiny neck. When he looks back at Wooyoung’s face, distracted for a moment by the other’s jawline and throat, the other is already staring at him.

It should be embarrassing to have been caught checking out the guy who just saved him from what could have been a lethal accident, but for some reason, it isn’t. Maybe it’s because of how easygoing and carefree Wooyoung looks and sounds, something about him so positive and hopeful that San can’t help but be affected by his energy.

San blushes as Wooyoung smirks at him. It’s controlled, measured almost like he knows exactly which muscles he needs to use to ensure the way the charming smirk will break across his face, like he’s done this a million times before, like he knows exactly how it makes the person on the receiving end feel.

It’s a little disconcerting, despite the rush of emotion it sends sprinting under San’s skin. It’s probably only because San’s a skeptical idiot who only sees the worst in people before he does the best.

“Would you rather wait alone?” Wooyoung asks, and his voice is a little deeper than it was before.

San shakes his head vehemently, surprising even himself.

“Then, I’m staying,” Wooyoung says, finality ringing in his words.

Wooyoung, San can tell, is insanely good at making people feel at ease. San’s good at dealing with people too, but that’s from years of paying attention to even the minute details so that he wouldn’t misstep boundaries or read their actions wrong. 

Wooyoung, though, is a natural. It’s almost as if it doesn’t take him any effort at all to introduce a topic and chatter on about it, pausing at the right points to let San talk, humming and assuring him even if traffic in Seoul shouldn’t require this deep a conversation.

It’s not quite on par with the college counsellor, an odd analogy, San’s mind provides helpfully, but it’s scarily close. It’s not the way Wooyoung speaks or gestures as he does which reminds him of fading evenings and dreary afternoons, sluggishly dragging himself from his dorm room or his computer science class to the middle-aged woman who had nothing but hope and optimism to give him. It’s just the energy the other exudes, calm and collected even as his gaze sparkles and something youthful emanates from him reminding San of everything he isn’t, hasn’t been in a long time.

They don’t really talk about anything personal, but talking to Wooyoung, San finds, is scarily easy. For once, San doesn’t feel like he has to carefully weigh his words or filter out words so that he’ll sound like the other person wants him to. 

It’s been a while since he had been able to talk to someone like this, without fear of what they might think, of how he’ll be perceived.

At the office, even if it’s a meeting with a new client who is a stranger, San couldn’t afford to slip up the tiniest bit because losing clients, no matter how high up in the ranks he was, would have serious repercussions. Seonghwa wouldn’t mind it, he knows, but San has worked too hard for this life, this job, that stumbling even once wasn’t an option he could allow himself to consider. The occasional parties and banquets were the same thing. Strangers had to be dealt with caution and patience or the reputation of the company would be in jeopardy, and that was the last thing San wanted to do, especially when Seonghwa had done everything in his power to give him this opportunity.

Looking at Wooyoung, even if he is a stranger, San feels like he understands what San is talking about even if their conversation isn’t politically charged or emotionally draining. He feels like one of those people who just makes things brighter and easier just by their presence. 

San knows that he must have his off days too, it’s unfair to assume otherwise considering people are just people, but looking at the way he throws his head back and laughs, high-pitched squeals escaping him unabashedly, San feels like he’s watching literal sunshine. 

Maybe it’s just him, but the sky feels a little brighter again.

It’s after Jongho has arrived and Wooyoung has waved at him again, this time San’s eyes catching on the glint of metal on the other’s ring finger that he gets the much-needed kick of reality.

It’s a thin platinum ring, pretty like Wooyoung is, the metal’s greyish-silver tint contrasting Wooyoung’s golden skin. 

_Oh_ , he thinks, delayed.

 _Too late_ , his mind sasses as if an opportunity San hasn’t even considered completely has slipped by without giving him a chance.

Even if he is feeling something akin to disappointment, San is sensible enough to admit that whoever is Wooyoung’s significant other, or fiance, by the looks of it, must be insanely lucky.

The feeling of shame that fills him to have allowed himself to dream for something even if not in concrete terms makes San want to kick himself off a skyscraper. He really should have known that someone like Wooyoung would be taken already. 

It was obvious enough.

It’s not like San was confrontational or brave enough to do anything about it anyway, even if he had a chance. Not that he had any. He was a stranger.

Wooyoung snaps a finger in front of his eyes, his bright, sparkly gaze and undivided attention fixed on him. He’s bending down to level their eye line, one of his elbows placed on the windowpane as he raises an eyebrow at San.

It seems like it’s a habit. 

It’s cute. 

Objectively. 

_Obviously._

Wooyoung’s taken. _Engaged_. 

About to be _married_.

San should put a leash on his heartbeat. This was not enough time, not even the right moment, to begin crushing on someone.

Especially not someone who’s _taken_.

“Are you here?” Wooyoung asks, smile fading a little.

It’s Jongho who answers for him because San’s too slow to do so himself, too busy calming his heart down. He is glad for the intrusion because San isn’t sure he could have pulled himself away from the other’s intense but bright gaze for long enough to answer.

Fuck. 

He’s so _pretty_.

“He is. Thank you for helping him out…” Jongho trails off, obviously waiting for Wooyoung to fill in the blanks.

“Jung Wooyoung,” Wooyoung replies, easy, charming smile ever-present on his lips. It's not the same as the one San had received earlier.

The name rings in San’s head like something he should remember for the future. He doesn’t pay it any mind, waiting for his self-preservation instincts to floor the accelerator.

San catches Jongho nod in his peripheral vision, but just as he is about to turn and thank Wooyoung on his own, once more, because he can’t remember thanking him for saving his life, there’s the sound of a car honking behind them. Jongho rolls up the window quickly, throwing an apologetic glance at him and Wooyoung. San settles for mouthing another _thank you_ through the tinted glass at his handsome savior who merely sends him a salute, ring-adorned hand a reminder to San to not seek him out even if he wanted to.

Plenty of fish in the sea and all that, right?

_Right._

***

San rubs his eyes furiously, leaning back in his desk chair as the simulation runs, the protagonist leaping off a roof with his long legs, landing on the safety level with his veiny arms clutching the edge of it. 

It’s a success. San is about to let his lips curve into a small victorious smile when the protagonist pauses, a glitch he’s sure he can fix, but before he can intervene and save the design, the figure slips and falls to the abyss. 

He's never been the quickest of the lot, so he only lets out a long suffering sigh and clicks his tongue quietly. 

If this was real life, there would be splatters of blood and a body to be moved to the morgue as the outcome, but it isn’t. 

He's glad it isn't. 

This is what simulations were for. It's make-believe. Dots and lines and colors he's chosen, curves and edges he's designed. 

Nothing more, nothing less.

 _Simulation failed_ , his dual monitors say, huge LED screens that spell out his failure twice.

The words are a sickly neon, and maybe if it was his first rodeo, he would put his head in his hands, curse out every minute he’s spent calculating the wrong equations and sob quietly in his cabin, door and heart both locked.

To be fair, it’s not really a maybe because he knows that’s exactly what had transpired the first time a big simulation failed, but he’s grown over the years, and failed simulations aren’t a measure used to ascertain his success.

At least, not anymore.

There are days when San’s mind doesn’t register it though, when it doesn’t quite believe the accolades, days when it barricades his ears to the endless praises he’s been showered in for helping revolutionize a field many had thought untouchable for just any psych and compsci major, but today, thankfully, isn’t one of _those_.

There’s a knock on his door and San twists the spinning top atop his glass desk, grunting out his permission for whoever is on the other side.

He doesn’t have to look up from the rotating iridescent purple totem to know it’s Seonghwa. 

“You skipped lunch,” Seonghwa says, his eyes bearing holes into San’s head. Quietly, San wonders if his black hair would go back to platinum blond if Seonghwa glared hard enough at it.

Did heat have that property? Maybe not. 

He’s not sure.

What was physics anymore? San laughs internally.

His stomach had grumbled out in protest against hunger quite a few times in the midst of the simulation design, but San hadn’t paid it any heed. Right now, he knows it’s easier to apologize to Seonghwa and walk with him to the cafeteria, but his totem keeps spinning, and San can’t pull his eyes away from it to spare his friend a glance.

“... and dinner,” Seonghwa continues, voice thick with disappointment, his eyes settling on the totem for a second before he blinks. 

That gets San’s attention. He gazes down at the corner of his screen.

3:12 AM.

The last time he’d looked at the time, it had been around 11 in the morning, Jongho bringing his coffee with a gentle smile, asking him to not work too hard and to let him know if he needed anything.

San remembers seeing the younger a couple of hours ago when he had hovered next to the doorway, saying words which weirdly enough, San can’t recall.

It should make him panic, and it does, but he’d be damned if he lets Seonghwa see. The last time he overworked himself like this, he’d ended up in the hospital for a week straight, doped up on the neurosimulators their lab had custom-made for him and other drugs which were fighting to pull him out of whichever stupor he’d landed himself in.

It could have ended badly. 

Very badly. 

But it hadn’t.

San knows better than to gamble his life for a dream, but wasn’t it what spurred people on? 

Chase your dreams, he had heard one too many times. He still does. It’s a pun now, a cliche statement that dissolves any stoic meeting into one of raucous laughter and baritone cheering. 

San sees the humor for what it is now, but there was a time when he didn’t.

“San?” Seonghwa’s closer now, having stepped in fully into the cabin, the door having swung closed behind him. He reaches out to grab the totem as if he knows it will force San into action. 

It does. San’s fingers close around his spinning top. Lavender abruptly stopping to a deep purple. 

Blinking slowly at his friend who is also his boss, newly-crowned owner of Dreamer Guild, heir to an empire of people, all stalwarts in dream design and manipulation, San wonders if Seonghwa can sleep well at night thinking of what they have designed for their clients.

It’s a business. Not everything was bound to be ethical. San had known that when he stepped in but despite his best attempts at denial, he knows he’s running himself to the ground. It’s too much to admit to himself though, at least not completely, not yet.

San’s only twenty-four, veering into the turn of a quarter of a century he’s lived, that he has _survived_ , and he’s already tired. In contrast, surprisingly enough, Seonghwa’s a couple of years older, but he rarely shows any signs of wear and tear.

Maybe San’s just too fragile for this job, like the college counsellor had told him on one particular breakdown during his final year.

“San,” Seonghwa calls again, and San nods in acknowledgement, leaning back in his chair, his hand shoving his totem inside his pocket. Seonghwa’s eyes track the movement, but it doesn't make him uncomfortable.

“Hey, hyung,” he greets, delayed. Seonghwa frowns, clearly displeased.

“Do you plan on leaving this place any time soon or am I gonna have to throw you out?” 

It is said in a forcefully joking tone, but Seonghwa’s voice shakes at the end of it. He gets stressed easily, San’s noticed, especially after that time he found San on the floor bleeding from his nose.

Maybe San owed him an apology for scaring him like that, but he didn't feel like he did anything to warrant an apology. 

Right now, it's all San feels though, an apology sitting at the base of his throat as he gazes at Seonghwa whose brows are lined with distress, with worry. 

Wasn’t concern a part of the package that he is though? Like a _get your Choi San, get a lifetime of worrying over everything he does_ sort of deal?

Is he even making sense anymore?

Better yet, if he's not, is there anything he can do about it even?

Probably not.

“You can’t throw me out,” San says, letting a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. 

Seonghwa can _totally_ throw San out. It’s his company, but he won’t.

San knows that.

It’s a quiet challenge, San wanting to push the elder’s buttons despite knowing that it will take a lot more than that to provoke him.

It’s not as entertaining as San hoped it would be. Regret clouds over his vision resultantly.

Seonghwa’s eyes flicker nervously as if he’s still gauging how to respond to San.

“I can," Seonghwa settles on saying, his face saying two can play this game, never one to give in so soon, "and it looks like I might have to if you start starving yourself.”

It isn’t a threat but it does ring with the same authority of one, but San sees past the facade, because deep down, he knows he’s just worrying his hyung.

“I’m not… starving myself,” San heeds. “I’m just... “ _lost, terrified of what I’m doing, too dedicated_ , _aimless, desperate for anything that’ll fix this hole inside my heart,_ his mind trails off because he doesn’t know how to finish that line of thought.

“You’re just what, San-ah? Hongjoong has barely seen you this week, and it’s _Saturday_ . You _know_ he worries. We’ve been trying to reach out to you for _days_. You won’t pick up your phone. You won’t respond to emails. You won’t even go home unless Jongho drags you out.”

San smiles, a first instinct because he is a joke, because he has everything he’s ever dreamed of, he mentally laughs at the unintended pun, and yet, he’s still so _sad_.

Prodigy kid. Choi San. Ace in everything he does. STEM savant who beat an old, wrinkly, Nobel Prize-winning psychiatrist from Oxford at the age of 20 after stumbling into a debate in his shark camouflage hoodie. Apple of his family’s eyes and every teacher’s favorite. The one boy everyone had faith in to not screw up, and yet, in the maze that is life, he has done the exact same thing he didn't think he ever would.

San remembers what happiness tasted like, remembers exactly how it felt to hold the hand of the man who invited him aboard Dreamer Guild, remembers the scent of his pillow when he had smothered his face into it and squealed in delight at getting to live his dream without the help of drugs specifically designed by his colleagues.

Maybe whatever happiness he has found has been leeched away because more than half the time, he’s designing dreams for others, for purposes that may or may not be good. When the fear of what he’s doing dawns in him, drowning even more in his notes about dream manipulation way back from college and losing himself to the prick of a needle directly in his veins is the only reprieve he allows himself.

He’s exhausted, not because he hates his job, but because it’s everything he thought he wanted but also not.

“San-ah,” Seonghwa’s voice trails off, heavy despite how fond and concerned it comes out sounding. “Are you here?”

_Is he?_

He is, isn’t he?

Wooyoung had asked that too, hadn't he?

“I am, hyung," he says, hoping Seonghwa won't hound him about how uncertain it sounds. "Just feeling tired.”

Sighing heavily, Seonghwa runs a hand through his hair, gazing out at the illuminated skyline of their city before he gazes back at San. San only watches him, numb.

“Take a break.”

San presses on the power button of his monitors and smirks at the emptiness that claws his chest at the words. Seonghwa's words are not an order, but it's not an offer either. He’s heard it before, but it’s never sounded like this before. It makes him feel even emptier because he does not think he deserves to take a break. He doesn’t want to either. 

More time to spend dwelling on all the potential mistakes he’s made, on all the lives he has ruined? No thank you. He’d rather walk straight into the sea. 

San wishes there was something, a physical wound, a broken bone, something tangible to feel hurt over, but there’s nothing.

“I can’t,” San says, getting up and walking to Seonghwa who looks at him with all the pity in the world.

San wants to melt to the ground beneath his feet and never look at another person again.

“It’s not that you can’t, is it?” Seonghwa grits. “It’s just that you won’t.”

San shrugs, pretending like his entire being isn’t shaking, isn’t aching because of something he can’t even point out with all the certainty in the world. The turmoil inside him is just a blackened, rotting mass of too many things, vague and undefined, half-truths and whole lies and a million possibilities where things are the worst case scenarios only, because being smart also means your mind will always have more power over you than anyone else.

It’s _too_ much. It’s always been like this. It’s just that the years have begun to tire him out.

Seonghwa knows him well, the years they’d spent together at university doing much more to solidify their bond than San’s ongoing stint at Dreamer Guild has, but at the moment, there’s a part of him that wishes it was Hongjoong who had come to run interference.

It isn’t careful words and walking around shells that San needs now. 

That said, he doesn’t really know what he needs either.

It’s a spiral to nowhere, a maze with too many dead ends, his own personal hell of Penrose stairs.

Maybe what he needs is sharp words with the intent to hurt. Maybe pain could have been a catalyst, but San is also aware of how irrational it is for him to assume that Hongjoong would ever say anything to hurt him like that, like he wants him to, like he wants Seonghwa to.

“You worry me every waking minute, San,” Seonghwa says. It’s more a breath than it is anything else.

“Well, no one asked you to, hyung,” San replies without losing a beat, staring through the glass walls of his office at the flickering lights of the Ferris wheel that stands still. 

A chuckle escapes Seonghwa, and nothing about it sounds even the slightest bit happy. San hates himself for a moment, but maybe Seonghwa will finally take a hint and let him be.

“I know why you’re doing this, but it will take a lot more than that to make me leave, to make Hongjoong leave, _if_ you get us to leave that is.”

That’s not really a novelty to San now, is it?

The hour drifts by in silence engendered by the tense atmosphere before Seonghwa finally drags him out to the ramen place a few blocks away from their office. San stares out the window throughout the ride, rain pelting down the bluish glass. Seonghwa asks him to wait before opening the door once they reach, grumbling about Hongjoong having forgotten to keep the other spare umbrella back in the car. 

San steps out, not really caring if he gets drenched. The momentary wetness that soaks his head is worth the scolding he has to deal with throughout the meal.

***

It’s two days later when there’s an unusual sort of clamour outside his cabin that San pauses in the report he’s typing up, feeling nerves settle in for no apparent reason at all. The report is for a PhD student from one of the local universities who’d emailed him for help with their thesis, something about the impact of emotions and logic in multi-level dreams. 

It’s been a month since he saw it, so the respectable window of time to respond has passed, but he’s hoping that the person will appreciate his response regardless of his unplanned tardiness.

He figures out the reason for the nerves seconds later. Well, sort of.

It’s Hongjoong who barges in, no knocks, no buzzers, no warnings, just five feet and six inches of fury that is masked under the guise of a small smile that betrays his intentions shoving the door open, successfully messing up every bit of spirit and will that San has forced himself to cultivate in these trying times. 

Well, there goes the report, San thinks, quickly saving the file, his fingers pressing down on the shortcut keys before Hongjoong will have the urge to tear apart the cables just in case San’s brain decides to put his foot in his mouth and provoke him.

“There you are, you brat,” Hongjoong sighs in delight, dragging up a chair and settling down on it like putting San under pressure with his presence alone is a better achievement than the Entrepreneur of the year award he’d received just a month ago.

“Here I am,” San says tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face and setting his charging laptop aside. There’s no use in staring at a blinking cursor when he knows from Hongjoong’s posture that he won’t be allowed to work on anything further.

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine on this wonderful day,” Hongjoong deadpans, sharp eyes drifting over San’s face as he leans back, arms crossed across his chest in an action that tells San that the older isn’t here on one of his random visits.

“Why are you here, hyung?” San asks, giving in quickly because the lengthier the conversation, the more Hongjoong will prod, and he’s not ready to risk it all at four in the evening, tired from three back-to-back meetings and some intense reading for the report he’d been writing.

Jongho, the traitor, was probably sipping at his iced americano, having sold San over for a cup of bitterness.

Maybe he should smack him the next time he sees him, or better yet, ban caffeine from the office premises for a week as punishment. It’s not like San’s ever been a fan of the bitter concoction enough that he would crave it unlike Jongho who would quite literally suffer without his americano.

Serves him right.

“Can’t I just be visiting my loveliest junior and favorite prodigy kid?” Hongjoong demands, but his eyebrow twitch gives away his agenda for the day.

San cocks a brow, setting his elbows on the edge of the table, a _get on with it_ as strongly as it could be conveyed.

“I have a proposition for you,” Hongjoong amends leniently, probably sensing that San’s beyond exhausted to engage him in one of their usual banters.

“Damn. Cheating on Seonghwa hyung? That’s low even for you,” San snarks anyway, smirking at the way Hongjoong’s grin gets wider with tendrils of spite.

“Save your mind games for someone who won’t catch it in seconds, San-ah,” Hongjoong responds, leaning forward and grabbing the swinging pendulum on the table, stopping its motion.

“Who says I was trying?” 

Hongjoong laughs, mumbling something about little brats with the audacity to sass back at him. There’s something in his voice though, a tension that’s rarely there unless he is particularly worried about something.

“Anyway,” Hongjoong sing-songs loudly, clearly done or in a hurry to get someplace else or maybe to hide the worry in his words and continues, “There’s a new project. The board has shown interest in merging Dreamer Guild with the R&D department of Sigma Wave for a year. It’s a temporary thing that could hit big. It may finally sway Weavertech into selling us their neurostimulator unit too.”

Hongjoong nudges the ball at the edge of the metal chain with his pinkie before he meets San’s gaze again. 

“They haven’t budged even a bit in the times we arranged a meeting with them for negotiations. What makes you think this could tip them over to this side this time?” San asks, calculating.

“You know how Seonghwa has wanted it for so long. I know they aren’t convinced yet, but Sigma has a deal with them. If we play the right cards, this could be our one shot at becoming the only company to offer all the elements necessary for dream sharing.”

It could be a game changer, San is aware. Even if their company produced everything involved in dream sharing, it went without saying that Weavertech made the best neurostimulator sedatives there is. The company had been super secretive about their formula and sued just about anyone who so much as attempted research. It’s like they had eyes everywhere because they always got wind of the research, no matter how deeply whichever unfortunate soul had hidden themselves. 

Dreamer Guild’s R&D wing had been given clear instructions by Hongjoong to not attempt an imitation of Weavertech’s formula, not wanting to risk a lawsuit as well as to not stain their reputation. 

Having them merge with Dreamer Guild would finally plummet them to the acme of their industry, but what San isn’t understanding is why Hongjoong is here to talk to him about it.

Did he need a second opinion or someone to listen to him, or was it something else?

“It sounds like a great plan. Having a year-long agreement means we will be able to pull out at the event of some complication or unprecedented damage. We’re at a place where we could go for a gamble like this and emerge from it without injuring ourselves,” San states, his meeting voice making an appearance without him asking it to.

“Why are you telling me this though, hyung?” He continues when Hongjoong merely nods and stares at him like there’s more to it that he isn’t saying.

“You’ll be working with someone else for the duration of the term. Before you ask, it’s not a lab trial. Sigma has a skilled architect who joined them a few months ago. Kim asked me if you could train him to build better.”

There it is. 

The catch.

“I don’t want to work with anyone. I’m doing fine alone,” San bites out, hackles raised.

“You’re not gonna have a choice if we go through with this deal. They know how stubborn you’re about not taking apprentices or partners. It’s probably why they put it in the deal,” Hongjoong states seriously, gaze skimming over San’s face like he’s trying to get a better read on him.

“Hyung, I hate working on group projects,” San tries.

“No,” Hongjoong says, shaking his head firmly, like he has absolutely no reason to second guess his findings. “What you hate isn’t working in a group. What you hate is the constant worry over judgement, about what the other person might think of you, whether they’ll hate you after getting to know you or lose interest in you as soon as you’ve given them what they want. What you hate, San-ah, is the fear that plagues you that the other person might be just using you, so don’t you dare tell me that you don’t like doing group projects when the thing you really need is someone who will understand you enough to work well with you and not try to use you to their advantage.”

San hates Hongjoong for how well he can read him even if more than half his energy is spent on hiding details like this about himself. 

Hongjoong’s right. 

Ever since the first couple of times he got conned into doing the hefty load of projects for some competitions at their uni’s prestigious science fairs, not often ending up in his favor because college kids are greedy and insensitive, he’s been wary of working with strangers. San’s had one too many ideas stolen from him, all brought back to him only because Hongjoong knew to throw a mean right hook and Seonghwa knew to patch them both up.

The closest San has had to work with someone whom he didn’t know much, in the sense of a proper collaboration, is that one time he worked with Mingi from their R&D team, a tall man whose personality swung between night and day, someone who exuded a sense of ease in the way he did things. San hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to work with him, but he hadn’t regretted it either because Mingi wasn’t a stupid college kid with no regard for other people’s feelings, nor was he a thief who had no qualms about stealing their teammate’s intellectual property.

If San’s being honest, it’s not really the stealing part that bothers him. It’s the way he remembers what they’d all said to him in more ways than one. Nameless faces and harsh words that had engraved themselves onto his mindscape even if he knew better to not let it get the best of him. Things like that, they stick with you for life, and San’s had to learn the hard way that he’s no exception.

“And this person, you’ve met them? You can promise me that they’ll not just run away with my ideas, that I can trust them? You can vouch for them like that?”

San’s expecting Hongjoong to be thrown off guard, not for a small smile to creep up his face and radiate assurance. For all the time he’s known him, Hongjoong’s always been the hardest to convince. If San was skeptical with some things, Hongjoong was quite literally the embodiment of it. Perhaps it’s the business major in him that has amplified that particular aspect of his personality.

“I’ve been working with him for a month now, just because I wanted to see if he’ll be able to deal with things here and to get a grasp on his personality. He’s good at what he does, San-ah. You’ll love him. I promise,” Hongjoong says, tone soft. San knows better than to ignore the wisps of fondness curling around his slightly high voice.

So it’s a guy, is San’s first thought, someone who, in the span of a month, has managed to make stubborn, prickly, arrogant Hongjoong not just fond of him, but has also convinced him that he’s trustworthy and will somehow sync with San.

San would be lying if he said that he wasn’t curious now. Getting Hongjoong’s approval was a gargantuan task, and if this person had done it in less than a month, he surely was worth a try. 

“That’s high praise coming from you,” San notes, emotionless. _Thank you for looking out for me_ , he thinks, but the words don’t make it past his lips, knocking on his teeth with urgency but also stuck there for some reason. 

Hongjoong was under no obligation to do a background check on some random guy whom San would have no choice but to work with if the deal went through. It’s not like San was selfish enough to let his insecurities get in the way of Seonghwa’s dream anyway, so he’d have sat through the ordeal of getting a partner without so much as a word uttered protesting against it, no matter how much of a lowlife his partner ended up being. So, he appreciates it, the way Hongjoong felt like he had to do a trial run and see for himself if whoever this person was would fit in here, with San in his space.

“You know how I am,” Hongjoong says, and San does. The words hang in the air anyway though, as if the older is allowing him time to decide and arrive at a decision when in reality both of them know what San will end up choosing.

San is grateful for the illusion of a choice though. He’s not bitter about it, not when Seonghwa is involved.

“When’s the deal?” 

Hongjoong sighs, wincing a little before he pulls at the navy blue lanyard hanging from his neck and shifts in his seat. He looks down at his watch and sends San an apologetic glance, like he’s about to drop a bomb on San.

What now? San thinks.

“Ten minutes, give or take,” Hongjoong mutters, voice void of any inflection.

Huffing out a laugh, San blinks and tilts his head in disbelief, eyes feeling dry from having stared at Hongjoong unblinkingly. 

“Here I thought you cared about me,” San sneers lowly, pairing it up with that fake dimpled smile he knows will hurt Hongjoong because it’s what San does when he feels hurt, when he feels wronged, betrayed. Hongjoong’s rarely been on the receiving end though, but this time he is, rightfully so.

“San,” Hongjoong starts, jerking out of his chair.

San holds up a hand, not attempting to mask the disappointment. Hongjoong’s lips thin as he stares at him, silent, guilty.

“Listen, I know that I don’t have a choice here, but you could have at least tried to make it seem like I did, hyung. This was shitty even for you.” 

San pulls his own lanyard on, tugging his tie and fixing it with more force than is necessary because he’s angry at the elder for not having given him the time to even sleep on it. 

The choice has always been an illusion, but the fact that Hongjoong made it seem like San would always go along ( _he will_ ), like he’s an attention-starved abandoned puppy the happy couple next door has adopted just sits wrong with him.

San grabs his phone and walks out of his cabin to the elevator, not waiting for Hongjoong’s hastily cooked up, superficial apology because he knows he has already forgiven the other, too weak to actually strike up a fight and watch it snowball from there. At least not against one of the people he cares about most in the world.

San blinks and lets himself be dragged along the tide.

***

For all intents and purposes, San’s skepticism ends where his faith in the butterfly effect begins. It’s, perhaps, his love for probability and math ever since he was little, living its best life, but when things get too cluttered inside his head, this is what San likes to do, to trace back his steps and think of everything he’s seen happen in the past right up until this moment, the _right now_ , the present. 

San trods along the same alleys, thinks of the people he saw on his way to the office, dwells on the exact pitch of the golden retriever puppy's bark near the cafe, thinks of the forgotten pump of cream in his coffee on a Thursday last month. He closes his eyes and rebuilds his days from memory, visuals contributing to the spatial image he creates in his mind, sees the exact moves which could have potentially created the ripple effect that has made him change the way he drinks his coffee or how he does his breathing exercises before he drives home after work.

It’s not superstition or his self-serving bias poking its head and making its presence known. 

It’s just science.

Science, San thinks, is the reason why the conference room is packed, spare chairs having been pulled from the storage room and the oval glass table rearranged to ensure that everyone gets space to sit comfortably, and all San can see is a blur.

Science, he thinks, is why, despite everyone in the room turning their heads to look at him, San’s breath is stolen by the black-haired man who had saved his life two days ago and vanished for what he then thought had been forever.

 _Wooyoung,_ he hears in his head, soft and lilting like the true embodiment of warmth. 

As if on cue, like he can hear the exact way San’s voice curls around his name spoken out loud in his head, Wooyoung winks at him.

San doesn’t notice the way his jaw has fallen open a little at seeing Wooyoung until the other smirks at him in that charming way of his before he taps his own chin to remind San that he’s staring at him like an idiot in the middle of what he knows is an important meeting.

“San,” he hears from the side, turning to see Seonghwa who is looking at him like he's grown two heads. The elder shakes the expression off and gestures at him to shut the door and sit down next to him. He’s grateful to the older man for having pulled him out of his questionable and high-key dramatic reverie. 

If he'd done it a bit earlier, San wouldn't have made a fool out of himself, but he has, and there's no changing the past. 

San can feel eyes on him but when he glances up, he catches Wooyoung look down suddenly at his notepad with a small smile that dances on the edge of his pink lips.

What was Wooyoung doing here anyway? Did he work for Sigma? It’s not like San can figure it out with the vague idea he has of the man. They hadn’t talked about their place of employment the last time after all.

Well, San had, but they had gone off on a tangent after that and it had completely slipped San’s mind that Wooyoung hadn’t told him what he did for a living.

What were the odds really?

Seonghwa’s blazer jacket brushes against his arm as Hongjoong settles down on his other side, making San feel like a child stuck between his parents on the day of a parents meeting. His attention, though, is entirely stuck on Wooyoung.

San tries to listen to what the senior colleagues and higher ups have to say about the tentative merger, he really does, but trying isn’t as good enough as listening so most if not all clauses fly right over his head. 

“Hyung, do you have a file with the terms they’re reading out now?” San asks after an hour of futile attempts at making his brain focus without any visible improvement. 

It’s intended to be for Seonghwa, but the older is too engrossed in the meeting to respond, much less even acknowledge that he’s heard San. San has half a mind to shove an elbow in the other’s ribs, but he can still feel Wooyoung’s gaze on him every now and then, and he’d like for his image to be that of a non-violent entity.

Which he is.

Most of the time.

His phone vibrates in his hand and San types the password to see that it’s a notification for the email of the document in question. 

From Hongjoong.

It’s as clear a truce as any. San nods quietly, relaxing as Hongjoong puts a hand atop his knee and squeezes reassuringly before taking it away.

When San lifts his head, Wooyoung’s gaze is not on his face, but on his knee.

Wow.

_Okay._

San’s cocked brow, a clear question, receives a small shrug before Wooyoung turns his attention back to the projection of the graph on the screen, remaining like that till the meeting is over.

When his head has successfully reminded him that staring at someone for such a long time is weird and borderline creepy, San switches tactics, forcing himself to look away from Wooyoung and search for the person he will work with, whom he assumes must be present here too.

There are a couple of men on the younger side, but other than Wooyoung, there’s no one who looks to be in the same age group as San other than for Hongjoong, Seonghwa and Jongho.

Could it be?

San doesn’t allow himself to dwell on the possibility, reminding himself of the ring circling the other’s pretty finger.

***

It’s another hour and a half later when the meeting finally winds up, Seonghwa making a closing presentation reestablishing what Dreamer Guild aims to do during the tenure of the merger, wishing them a successful partnership and more frivolous nonsense that San tunes out because he has no interest in business terms.

Then he's distracted by the usual bustle which takes place once a meeting is over after bored, but thundering applause, and San stands to the side to not get shoved to the side. He sees Jongho look around the room for him even as he escorts a senior officer out the door. San raises his hand up as subtly as he can, the younger veering his head up to breathe out in relief and smile, nodding and walking out the door.

Just as San begins to zone out again, Hongjoong’s fingers clasp around his wrist, effectively pulling him to reality before he can think about astral projection and its possibilities.

San’s about to tell him that he has a friend among the entourage who arrived from Sigma and leave to maybe say a quick hello to Wooyoung when he catches the man in question wading through the mass of chairs, clearly headed in his direction.

Hongjoong bows at another senior officer, tugging San down by his wrist too. When they straighten up, Wooyoung’s right in front of them, sparkly eyes skimming over them both.

“I thought I told you to sit next to Seonghwa, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says, relaxing his grip on San’s wrist and taking it away in favor of attempting a smack on the other.

Wait. 

_What?_

Did Hongjoong know Wooyoung?

“Not my fault your husband looked like he was about to commit murder waiting for you. I like being alive, you know?” Wooyoung retorts casually, like joking with Hongjoong is an easy thing for him.

 _Holy shit._

_Who_ was this guy?

“You guys know each other?” San asks, hating the way his voice sounds thin. San shoots Hongjoong a look of bewilderment, feeling like he’s missed the most crucial part of a movie he wasn’t even aware that he was watching.

Wooyoung, curse his soul, steps forward and claps a hand on San’s shoulder, and suddenly his handsome face is closer to him than even the guy with whom San had his latest one night stand with. He ignores the way his heart hammers in his chest at the other’s proximity.

Wooyoung smells expensive, like something minty fresh but also thick with an undercurrent of musk. It’s a heady smell that pulls at San in an almost vicarious manner. San pinches himself internally to stop himself from taking a whiff of it, knowing that no matter how good the other smells, scenting an acquaintance in plain sight right inside their conference room is definitely something that isn’t professional.

“Of course we do!” Wooyoung remarks happily, unaware of the torture he’s inflicting on San with how close he is. San turns to face him, more of a challenge to himself to see if he can do it than anything else, getting an eyeful of the ring instead, a reminder that the man beside him is taken and that this is _so_ not the time to think about stupid crushes.

Hongjoong seems to have understood San’s confusion because he smiles warmly at him, voice soft as he says, “This is Wooyoung,” _I know_ , San almost says, staying silent just for the sake of letting him complete, “He’s the guy I talked to you about, _but_ ,” Hongjoong stresses, narrowing his gaze at Wooyoung which makes San fear for his life for a moment. 

“ _Wooyoung_ , care to explain what’s going on here?” Hongjoong questions, eyeing the space, or lack thereof, between him and San. San instinctively shifts, but Wooyoung fixes his gaze on him and raises an eyebrow as if quietly asking why San’s moving away, but also like he can move away if he wants to. San’s way too impressed than he should be for the way Hongjoong’s murderous tone and accompanying glare has absolutely no response from Wooyoung.

“I told you I knew him,” Wooyoung provides unhelpfully. San decides to throw Hongjoong a bone instead of turning this into a bigger deal than it is already.

“We met the other day at the intersection. He helped…” 

“I helped him get his phone back,” Wooyoung interferes, winking playfully at San before he can tell Hongjoong the truth. 

It takes San a second to process what has just happened. 

Did Wooyoung… Did he just save him from a lifetime of _nagging_?

Is it wrong of him to want to kiss a stranger for being so good to him despite knowing next to nothing about him?

San’s standards must _really_ be low, huh?

Hongjoong skeptically eyes the both of them like they’re trouble. Some part of San enjoys being on the receiving end of the look. Hongjoong hums suspiciously, apparently satisfied with what he finds as he claps his hands together.

“Well, that saves me the trouble of boosting your ego by listing out your best qualities,” he declares because he’s a smug bastard who always knows to make the best out of the weirdest situations.

San can’t relate.

“So, off you go. Get to know each other and all that,” Hongjoong mumbles, pausing and eyeing Wooyoung, gaze intense now. 

“San’s made of glass, Wooyoung. Break him and I’ll break you,” Hongjoong continues, smiling like he hadn't just nudged an ultimatum to Wooyoung. San wonders if Wooyoung can see the murderous glint in the older’s eyes.

Wooyoung says nothing in response, putting a hand over his heart exaggeratedly as if in a gesture for a promise.

Hongjoong barely gives him a nod before he’s off, taking huge steps towards Seonghwa who’s grimace smiling at someone from Sigma that San remembers hit on the older once. Mentally, he prays the guy survives Hongjoong’s wrath, but deep inside, he hopes the guy suffers too.

It is what it is.

“He’s being so dramatic,” Wooyoung comments as he leads San to the cafeteria where refreshments are arranged. Their pace syncs up, something San notes absentmindedly as he just laughs nervously as the whole thing registers in him.

“He’s playing it up because he has an audience, but I’m so sorry that he was an ass,” San apologizes, making a mental note to ask why Hongjoong had stellar reviews about Wooyoung just hours ago only for him to treat him how he did in front of San.

“Naah,” Wooyoung says, waving his hand as he pulls a chair for San to sit before pulling one for himself. “I’m used to it. He’s always a dick.”

San can’t help the snort that escapes him. “Any louder and you’re gonna get fired.”

Wooyoung shrugs and laughs. “Nope,” he says, popping the p, “He’s all bark and no bite.”

San shakes his head fondly as he slumps in his chair, grabbing his coffee and taking a sip before setting it back down.

“Actually,” Wooyoung begins, turning to face him again. He’s too close. Again. It’s not uncomfortable though, so San lets him be. “He definitely bites too. Did you see Seonghwa hyung’s neck after their weekend getaway last month?” Wooyoung inquires, eyes wide with excitement as he whistles lowly as if Seonghwa’s bruised neck has impressed him beyond belief.

“I didn’t, but I can imagine,” San agrees, watching how Wooyoung takes a sip from his coffee and groans loudly.

San can tell that Wooyoung’s one of those people who live life one day at a time with how expressive he is with everything he does. In a way, he’s everything San is not, but he’s not sure about how much of that is true because he knows how unfair it is to judge a book by its cover.

“What the fuck? Why is the coffee here so good?” Wooyoung asks, like the coffee he’s sipping is some kind of elixir and not the bitter, expensive liquid it is actually, unaware of San’s inner musings. “The stuff at Sigma and Hongjoong hyung’s office tastes like tar,” Wooyoung continues even if San hasn’t asked him to explain, voice taking on a whiny tone as if he feels personally offended that he’s been scammed into drinking shitty coffee when he could have been enjoying this instead. There’s a part of San which understands that the freedom Wooyoung takes with him along with the adorable lack of a functioning filter is because for some reason, he feels at ease around him.

Or maybe it’s all an act to settle San’s nerves.

Either way, it makes it easier for San to talk to Wooyoung like he would to friends because he doesn’t have to think and rethink everything he says.

He watches Wooyoung take another sip, eyes going wide again in barely concealed appreciation. San veers around in his seat to look for Jongho, the one who actually went to the trouble and found decent coffee, pointing a finger at him as if the answer is self-explanatory.

“Oh!” Wooyoung says, squinting at Jongho before he sits back. San wonders if he actually wears glasses on the regular since it didn’t seem like his vision was at a hundred percent with how pinched his eyebrows and eyes got as he looked at Jongho. 

“Jongho, right?” Wooyoung asks after a beat.

San nods. He briefly wonders how Wooyoung knows his name because he’s pretty certain that Jongho hadn’t introduced himself the other day. However, if Wooyoung had been working with Hongjoong for a month, it was no surprise that he did.

It’s just as that particular thought registers that San realizes something.

“You _knew,_ ” he whispers in shock.

Wooyoung, all credit where it is due, at least has the sense to look guilty.

“I did,” he agrees, wincing like he’s genuinely guilty. “You’re on some part of the newspaper every day and even if I didn’t know you by last month, Hongjoong hyung has framed pictures of you and the gang in his office, so I would have known anyway. I know it doesn’t excuse what I did, but yeah,” he explains, fiddling with the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt.

“You could have just told me you knew me, you know?” San mumbles, disappointed just a bit. He regrets saying it as soon as Wooyoung’s face morphs into that of an expression of a kicked puppy the moment he sees San’s face fall. 

“I did think of it, but you looked so out of it that I thought maybe introductions would get you to calm down, and then Jongho came to pick you up so quickly that I didn’t get a chance to give you a heads up about this whole thing either.”

The metal chair is cold against San’s skin, piercing through the thin layer of his dress shirt and pants. San knows he should be at least slightly annoyed at Wooyoung for lying by omission, but he can’t bring himself to. Maybe he just doesn’t have the energy to pick a fight, or maybe Wooyoung’s too cute to stay angry at.

“San,” Wooyoung calls, voice soft, his hand extended towards him as if to touch before he pulls it back like he has realized how the gesture might be too intimate for two people who have only met twice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie.”

“It’s okay. I was just caught off guard today,” San says after a moment, hoping to ease the frown on Wooyoung’s face. He wants to act petty, wants to string Wooyoung along and milk his guilty conscience for what it’s worth for conning him as well as he did, but the genuine guilt displayed on his face tells him to let it be.

“So you were an architecture major?” San asks, switching topics to get Wooyoung to stop looking like San’s just murdered his favorite cat in front of him. He would try to soothe the sting from before, but he also can’t help but think that Wooyoung deserves it. A little bit at least. Especially now that he’s going to be working with San, it was better to get him used to how San dealt with things than make him see San through rose-coloured glasses.

“Double major in architecture and psychology actually,” Wooyoung says, tone a little cautious, little glances thrown at him as if to ascertain if San’s still irritated. He must look calm enough for him to continue.

San is impressed. Those were two difficult majors, but Wooyoung had, just like he did, picked them and made it far. The fact that they have a major in common, some expertise in a subject they need in this field more than anything, is relieving because contrary to his beginner years, San doesn’t trust himself as much as he used to.

Maybe it is unfair of him to put that burden on Wooyoung like it would inevitably end up being, but he’s helpless. 

“You majored in psychology and computer science, right?” Wooyoung asks, already looking better than he did two seconds ago, probably because of how San twists in his seat to see him better.

Hold on.

“Did you search me up on Google?” San deadpans as he realizes.

Wooyoung winces as if caught red-handed, setting the coffee down after he gives it a firm shake for God knows what reason. San can see how hard Wooyoung wants to smack himself and disappear forever.

It’s cute, and if San’s being honest, the fact that Wooyoung searched him up in a bout of curiosity to get to know him better is super flattering, but he’s not about to tell him that. Something tells him that the other would enjoy it too much.

“Listen, my superior told me I’d get the opportunity to work with _The_ Choi San, and I’m only human, you know? I had to make sure I knew everything about you before I saw you because I didn’t wanna say the wrong thing and mess things up.”

Wooyoung looks genuinely distressed at even the thought of potentially saying the wrong thing and fucking up with San, face clouding over with panic. San’s never felt so important, so powerful in his life.

“Well, do you?” San asks, serious.

Wooyoung’s half-excited, half-anxious energy simmers down, his voice thin as he asks, “Do I what?”

San shrugs. “You told me you wanted to make sure you knew everything about me. I’m asking you if you do.”

It’s a trick question, nothing that will make or break this partnership they’re about to embark on and try to navigate to the best of their capability, but it’s on San’s mind and he wants to know how Wooyoung will tackle this.

“Your birthday, what your parents do, the name of every journal you’ve published in, stuff like that, yeah, I do. I probably remember shit like that better than you remember them yourself." Wooyoung is right, San can't help but notice. "The answer to your question though, is no, because it’s not just numbers and years which makes a person, you know? It’s not like I don’t get anything about you from the way you write about the boundaries of a dream or how you spoke at SNU’s valedictory function last year, but those are just pieces, scattered fragments of what makes you you. I know there’s more to you than that. I’m not trying to discount those quirks of yours because they’re important too, but it’s different, don’t you think, getting to know someone from being right beside them? So I don’t know you, San, and you don’t know me either, but that’s okay. We have all the time in the world to learn.”

Wooyoung cracks a smile, a soft one that lingers on the corners of his lips even as he takes one last sip from his cup, like he hadn't just delivered some of the most sensible words San had heard in ages. San's still a little frozen as he tries to process the profundity of what Wooyoung had just told him. He watches as Wooyoung grabs his cup too, now empty, something even San hadn’t realized, and walks to the trashcan set in the corner of the cafeteria. A man San recognizes as being the CFO of Sigma Wave sends Wooyoung a mock sharp salute, the other responding to it with a salute of his own before he turns his attention back to San.

In the time it takes for Wooyoung to slide into the seat opposite him, shifting seats in favour of a position which makes it easier to face him, San zones out. He comes to Wooyoung snapping his fingers in front of him.

“So, what’s the plan, dreamer?” Wooyoung asks, resting his chin on his hand, elbow placed on the table, the full force of his sparkly gaze on San.

“Plan?” San asks dumbly.

“Like, do I work in your cabin? Do you want me to ask for a separate space? How comfortable are you with working on building together and going under together? The whole deal.” Wooyoung gestures with his arms flailing. 

San can tell that Wooyoung has given this some serious thought from how casually he has put things, but San’s barely had two hours to deal with the fact that he will be working with someone. The fact that it is Wooyoung, someone San feels like he will gel well with, does make things easier, but it’s still a lot of questions that San hasn’t had the time to consider and contemplate as much as he would like to have, but he gives it his best shot.

“I haven’t really had much time to think about this, so I’m pretty much lost here, but I think I’d be okay if we share my cabin. But if you mess things up in there, you can go hang out with Jongho for the rest of your time here and live in fear. Until then, you don’t need to ask anyone for a separate space, unless,” San bites his lip, “unless you’d prefer that.”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “No. I like it better like this actually. I’d prefer to stay within reach for as long as we’re working together, so I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Wooyoung crosses his arms over his chest like he’s making a promise.

San feels flustered, pink flying up his face for no reason. 

“About going under together,” San says, clearly wanting to move on so that Wooyoung won’t keep looking at him like that, with all his undivided attention channelled on him. “I can teach you to build only if we’re in the dream together. Otherwise it’s going to be a mess because I won’t know if you’re doing it right without seeing it for myself.”

Wooyoung hums approvingly. “I thought so too, but I wasn’t sure how comfortable you are with sharing a dream with me.”

“It’s okay. I’m not new to this, and I’ve shared dreams with a lot of people for tests and the like, so it’s not something super intimate to me. You don’t have to worry, but thank you for the consideration.” San waves a hand, dismissing the concern and caution he can sense from the other on behalf of him. As much as he appreciates the hesitation for what it means, he’s gone under with so many people to the point that his subconscious didn’t even see strangers as a threat anymore.

It had its repercussions, but San wasn’t about to tell Wooyoung that and make the conversation go downhill. Some demons were better left in shackles of their own design.

“So tomorrow?” Wooyoung asks as he leans in, bright-eyed.

San has to consciously keep his breathing in check as he nods. Wooyoung insists that they share phone numbers, San seeing no point in arguing when they were going to be working together anyway. 

Wooyoung extends a hand in expectation the moment San grabs his phone. San considers the gesture for a moment before giving in, not seeing any problem in letting the other put his number in.

The other man raises an eyebrow at San's homescreen as he unlocks the phone for him. It's nothing that warrants a reaction, just a picture he'd scanned of his first pet, Byeol. He'd found it in one of the albums from when he cleaned his store room a month ago. 

"What?" San asks, feeling a little defensive.

"It's just not something you expect from someone like you."

"People like me can't like cats?" San questions, hoping Wooyoung hears how incredulous his judgment is.

"I didn't say that. Calm down. I'm a dog person. I don't know why I thought you would be too, but honestly," Wooyoung says, leaning in, "I can see it."

San balks at the way Wooyoung lifts one of his hands and does a swiping motion at him like a cat would scratch someone.

_What the fuck was this guy on?_

Wooyoung doesn't elaborate, all business-like as he goes back to saving their numbers, going to the pain of saving his contact on San's phone himself as if he hadn't just imitated a cat.

A _cat._

“Before I go, tomorrow evening, after we’re done with work, would you mind coming home with me?”

San sputters at the question, wondering if Wooyoung even knew that he was the literal embodiment of a whiplash, San's mind drawing a blank as it focused all his thinking faculties in an attempt to decipher what he means by that. Surely, he didn’t mean it like San is thinking he did.

There’s no way that was an insinuation. Hell, the guy was taken.

Wooyoung must take his confusion for curiosity, explaining, “I have a dreaming suite at home. If we’re going under together for the first time, I think I’d rather it not be in a lab. If you’re uncomfortable with it, we can do it here, but I…”

San lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, hands bunching up the tablecloth hanging over the side of the table.

“You have a dreaming suite at home? That’s so cool. I have one too, but I’m used to going under just about anywhere, so it’s fine wherever we pick in the end. As someone with more experience here though, I’d rather we do it where you feel most comfortable.”

There’s something the slightest bit different about Wooyoung’s eyes on San’s now, something that feels so right, but also like San's mind wants him to see beyond it. Before he can read into it though, the look’s gone as if it was never there.

“Cool,” Wooyoung agrees.

“Cool,” San echoes, and after a wave and a moment where their fingers touch as he returns San's phone, Wooyoung’s gone. 

It takes San the few moments when Wooyoung’s off letting the others know that he’s going home to realize that ever since he saw the other in the conference room, he’s thought about nothing but him. It's sort of disorienting, the realization that is.

It is debatable, whether the implications of it is good or not, but at least San isn’t drowning in a pool of misery. He does have enough foresight to not allow himself to get too attached though, silently resigning himself to the fact that having Wooyoung in his life is a given by now.

Hongjoong was right, San admits to himself begrudgingly, but he’s not about to tell the older that.

At least not any time soon, and if San had anything to do with it, maybe never.

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be a lot of fun~ (vibrates in excitement) I'd love to hear what you think in the comments section!! Please leave kudos if you enjoyed the fic~ Thank you so much for reading!!!!
> 
> Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!  
> I yell about fics on my private [ Twitter ](https://twitter.com/rayteezer) account, so feel free to hit me up there too if you'd like to see endless screaming about Wooyoung, ATEEZ and wips~


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